


For everyone, for ever

by MildredMost



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Fluff and Angst, Hair Washing, Kissing, M/M, Post-MAG180, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildredMost/pseuds/MildredMost
Summary: Jon and Martin have a mini-apocalypse-break at a National Trust hotel. It feels a little magical. A littletoomagical.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 24
Kudos: 182





	For everyone, for ever

Martin woke first.

They weren’t in the room with the piano music any more. Martin looked down and shuddered at the trace of web at his wrists. He decided not to spend too much time wondering who had moved them or how they had done it.

He sat up carefully, not wanting to disturb Jon. They were both on a huge four poster bed, the most comfortable, luxurious thing Martin had ever lain down on. The fresh laundered smell of the sheets made him all too aware of his own very very unwashed clothes.

There was a view of lush green gardens from the huge window bay window (and if the curtains were made from fine cobwebs, Martin wasn’t going to wonder about that either). The sun was setting, the shadows from the trees long on the grass. A peacock strutted across the lawn with an eerie cry. Martin threw up the sash and a gentle patter of petals from the climbing roses fell around him.

“Bit much,” Martin muttered to himself, but he caught one and felt its velvet softness.

He looked back at Jon who was sprawled out like a beached starfish, utterly still. Not muttering or twitching, or staring with glazed eyes at nothing Martin could see. Just sleeping. Looking quite sweet, actually, Martin thought, and smiled to himself when he imagined telling Jon that.

God, the _state_ of both of them, though. Pulled through an apocalypse backwards.

Martin kicked his shoes off first. He briefly considered burning his socks in the gigantic fireplace by the bed, but merely grimaced and started a pile of filthy clothes instead. Shirt next, then jeans. The boxers weren’t too offensive somehow, but then Martin had packed about twenty pairs each for them.

The rugs were so deep that he barely made a sound as he went barefoot across the room to what he assumed might be…yes. The bathroom was clean, light and warm, and absolutely enormous. The claw footed bath dominated the centre of the place and Martin went immediately over to turn the taps on. With only a slightly gothic groan, steaming hot water began to cascade into the bath. Martin sighed with pleasure and wrapped himself in the thick towelled dressing gown which hung on the back of the door.

“Martin?” Jon called out from next door.

“Sorry – I didn’t mean to wake you,” Martin said, coming back into the bedroom.

Jon was sitting up, his hair all on end, and his filthy shirt looking even worse in the golden evening light.

“I didn’t know it was you,” Jon said, looking quietly delighted. “I don’t know where we are, or anything that has ever happened here. Well, I did come here once with my grandmother, but I mostly remember the scones.”

“Well that’s…good?” Martin guessed. He couldn’t help smiling back.

“Restful, certainly,” Jon said. He stretched, then wrinkled his nose. “I smell absolutely terrible.”

“We both do. I’m surprised I didn’t accidentally smite someone with my armpits alone,” Martin said.

“And I’m starving,” Jon said.

There was an elegant glass fruitbowl on a shining mahogany side table. Had that been there before they started to speak, Martin wondered? He couldn’t recall seeing it before. Jon slid off the bed and went over to it. He picked up an apple.

“Wait,” Martin said, moving swiftly to Jon’s side. He pulled a pocket knife from his pack. “Let’s just check, shall we?”

He took the apple from Jon, placed it on the table and sliced it neatly in half.

“Thank you for rescuing me from the completely normal apple,” Jon said dryly.

“No need to be like that just because I’ve learned a little bit of caution,” Martin said, slicing into a second fruit.

“Really? Because…oh.” Jon stopped and stared at the row of human teeth nestled in the apple’s flesh.

“Hmm,” said Martin, as a spider climbed out of the bowl and scuttled away. Martin dropped the apple back into the bowl.

“Martin – the bath,” Jon said, and Martin rushed over to it.

But the bath hadn’t overrun the tub. It was at the perfect depth, and filled with scented bubbles (had he put those in there? He didn’t think so) and looked utterly inviting.

“Does it seem alright?” Jon said, coming up behind him. “No disembodied heads bobbing in the water, or giant spiders waiting on the ceiling to pounce?”

Martin cast a glance at the ceiling, but all that was there was a dainty chandelier and a very nice ceiling rose.

Jon slid his arms around Martin’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“We both smell dreadful,” he remarked.

“Alright Jon, you can get in the bath with me,” Martin said with a grin. He felt Jon’s chuckle against his neck.

“Just be warned, this bath is entirely business,” Martin said, dropping the dressing gown on the floor and hopping in. He sat down at one end, unable to help a long groan of pleasure. “There’ll be none of your fun and games.”

“But I’m known for my fun and games,” Jon said, unbuttoning his shirt. “You’re so ungrateful. I’ve taken you to a magnificent merry-go-round, a lovely garden, we played I Spy…”

“Don’t start me off again,” Martin said, laughing. He ducked his head under the water, soaking his hair, then lay back and watched Jon taking off his jeans. Jon always got undressed in the most ungainly way possible, hopping around on one foot to take the first sock off, then pulling his trousers half way off before remembering about the second one.

“Don’t watch me, it just makes it worse,” Jon said, wobbling on one leg.

“I didn’t say a word,” Martin said. “But I’m _extremely_ turned on.”

“That’s why I do it this way,” Jon said. He managed to get his underwear off without getting tangled in it, and then kicked his clothes to the side of the room. “Right.”

Jon climbed into the bath, his lean legs tangling with Martin’s. He lay back with a sigh, and Martin felt a little surge of lust at the sight of Jon’s body. That was…good to know. His cock had stopped showing any interest in anything around the time they’d left the cottage – which had probably been for the best – but it was nice to feel it was waking up along with his appetite.

God, Jon’s scars turned him on, though. He’d almost forgotten.

Jon had picked up a large bar of soap and was lathering it vigorously.

“What do you think about this place?” he said to Martin.

“Bit fucked up Harry Potter, isn’t it?” Martin said, slightly hypnotised by the way Jon was soaping his chest. “Things appearing just as you want them. Like, where did you just get that bar of soap from?”

Jon looked down at it. “It was just…here.”

“I’d like a club sandwich please,” Martin announced to the room. “And chips. And a cornetto!”

“I can’t imagine that the kitchens of a stately home contain cornettos,” Jon said, rubbing soap into his hair.

“Bloody National Trust snobs,” Martin said. Jon laughed and tipped his head back to wash the soap away. The bar of soap slipped out of his hands and shot across to Martin, sinking down between his thighs.

Martin looked at Jon and raised an eyebrow.

“Can I have the soap back please?” Jon said, an amused smile on his face.

“Can’t find it,” Martin said. “You’ll have to help me look.”

“ _Martin_ ,” Jon said, getting up on his knees. He leant over Martin. “Are you seriously trying to play ‘hide the soap’ with me right now?”

Martin looked up at him. “Maybe?”

“Really?” Jon said, but softly, not breaking eye contact with Martin. Jon liked to look – and Look - at Martin, but he loved it even more when Martin looked back. Jon never came so hard as when Martin managed to maintain complete eye contact with him during sex. Martin hadn’t ever realised how intense that could be, to look into someone’s eyes when you were at your most vulnerable and exposed, and never look away, not for a second.

He spread his legs a little. “I did feel something here,” he murmured, taking one of Jon’s hands and pressing it against his inner thigh. 

“Mmm,” said Jon, stroking. “Can’t find it.” He slid his hand further up, under the curve of Martin’s arse. “Not here either.”

“Weird,” Martin said, feeling his cock begin to fill. “Better keep looking.”

Jon bent his head, kissing Martin deeply, then sat back. “Got it,” he said, holding the soap aloft.

“Boo,” Martin said.

“You were the one who said this bath was all business,” Jon said. He sighed theatrically. “If you’re not going to wash yourself, then I suppose I’ll have to do it.”

Martin let his head fall back against the side of the bath as Jon did that very thing. He soaped Martin inch by inch, then painstakingly washed the soap away with a sponge which had mysteriously appeared. He began with Martin’s hands - first one, then the other. Then his arms, his chest, his stomach. Martin floated in a lazily aroused haze, his cock semi-hard against his thigh. He dragged Jon down for a kiss now and again, but mostly just enjoyed the attentive touches, and the glorious feeling of being clean again.

“Why isn’t the water completely disgusting?” he said after a while. “ _We_ were.”

“Let’s not think about it too much,” Jon said.

Martin decided not to. Whatever the reason was that the water was still warm, clean and full of scented bubbles, or that when he’d kissed Jon they’d both tasted of mint, or that there was suddenly a giant pile of fluffy towels waiting for them on a heated rail, he was just going to enjoy every last second of it. And if he closed his eyes, then he wouldn’t have to notice the gold and black spider at the window, spinning a glittering web in the last of the evening light.

He took Jon’s hand and tugged him down against him. Jon turned and settled between Martin’s legs, his back against Martin’s chest. Martin took the sponge, drizzling warm water onto Jon’s stomach, and noticing that Jon, like him, was half hard. He kissed Jon’s neck.

“It’s getting dark,” he said. “We should probably get out.”

The suggestion was only half-hearted. Martin felt like he could stay in that warm, perfumed haven with a naked Jon between his legs for pretty much ever. But Jon had said he was hungry about an hour ago, and Martin was pretty ravenous himself. If the fruit in their room was all cursed, he’d have to go and find something else he supposed. He tried not to think too much about the artefacts he might find in a kitchen belonging to Mikaele Salesa.

Jon turned a little and kissed him full on the mouth, tender and lingering. Martin sighed against him, his cock filling harder. Jon pulled away for a moment, then turned entirely, sending a small wave of water over the side of the bath. Face to face he straddled Martin’s lap and kissed him hard and deep; urgent suddenly.

Martin felt his arousal surge in response. “Bed,” he said. “Bed, now.”

The scrambled inelegantly out of the bath, making vague attempts to dry themselves.

The bed had been turned down, and the curtains (don’t look at the curtains) had been drawn. The room was warmly lit by various antique lamps and even a couple of candles.

“Romantic,” Martin remarked, before grabbing Jon by the waist and pressing him hard up against one of the bedposts. Jon kissed him desperately, hands tangled in Martin’s damp hair and body hard against his own. He was fully hard now, just like Martin, their cocks nudging and dragging against each other. He could probably come like this, with his cock shoving against Jon’s and his tongue in his mouth, but Jon wanted more.

“Is there any…ummm,” Jon panted. “Did we bring…”

“In my pack,” Martin breathed. He dragged his eyes from Jon to look around for it. “Oh god.”

“What?” Jon said, turning his head in the direction of Martin’s gaze. “Oh.”

On the pillow lay an array of condoms, sachets of lube, and a couple of dildos.

“They really know how to kill the mood don’t they,” Martin said.

Jon laughed softly. “I think they’ll have to try a little harder than that,” he said.

Martin looked down at him with a surge of love. To think he could have Jon here, away from the Eye. He wouldn’t have that hollowed out, _hungry_ look to him that he usually had when they fucked, as though he needed more and more from Martin, but was terrified to take it. He wouldn’t have that distraction of not slipping up and tearing a thought from Martin by accident. Martin remembered the times that he had done, the times he’d told Martin _you want this, and this, you love me doing this to you, you thought about this, you touched yourself and thought of it,_ and Martin had only been able to agree and let him. And how they’d lain there afterwards; shaken, satisfied, horrified.

Here though, they could just _be_.

“I want to fuck you,” Martin said, needing it badly all of a sudden. It had usually always been the other way around.

Jon’s eyes went dark. “Yes,” he said.

Martin’s heart racing, he got onto the bed, pulling Jon after him. Jon straddled him again, and Martin ran his hands up Jon’s thighs and then stroked up further, running a finger down the cleft of his arse and hearing the soft sound he made.

“Yes?” Martin said.

Jon nodded, his hands clenched over Martin’s shoulders.

“You going to tell me, then?” Martin teased, stroking his finger over him again.

“Are you trying to compel me, Martin?” Jon said in his most detached, Jon-like way, but his cock was hard and wet, and his eyes were dark, and Martin could feel the coiled heat in his entire body.

“Make a change to know what you’re thinking,” Martin said, kissing him, and keeping up the relentless teasing of his finger across Jon’s hole. Jon moaned and deepened their kiss.

“If that’s what you’d like,” he murmured.

“Usually you’d already know what I’d like,” Martin said softly, and Jon sank both hands into his hair and kissed him deeply. Jon loved to kiss; he’d kiss on and on for hours and sometimes Martin let him. Tonight though, he needed more.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I…want you to fuck me. Like this. I want to sit on…” Jon rambled between kisses. “Inside me, please. Martin, for god’s sake you’re…”

“Going to put a finger in you first,” Martin said chattily, and felt Jon shiver against him. He reached blindly for the lube but of course it was there, a fingertip away. He opened it, applied it.

Jon rocked against Martin’s fingers. Martin pressed inside him and Jon moaned again. Martin felt Jon’s muscles clamp around him, and moved his finger, looking for his prostate.

Jon gave an actual whimper as he hit it, and Martin had to bite his tongue not to say something smug. “That it?” he said instead.

“Y-yes,” Jon managed. “There. _Fuck._ ”

“You feel amazing,” Martin said, thinking for the millionth time how ridiculous it was that Jon saying ‘fuck’ in that precise way of his could be such a turn on for him. He continuing to stroke, wringing another fuck out of him and a series of moans. His own cock ached with urgency.

“Get on with it Martin,” Jon gasped desperately. Martin could feel him tightening around his finger, precariously close already.

Probably in this weird, dreamlike place, he could have just sat Jon in his lap and rammed straight into him and it would all have been wonderful, and everyone would have had huge orgasms and possibly some fireworks would have gone off at the crucial moment. But Martin didn’t want that. He wanted this to be him and Jon and nothing else watching, pulling strings, interfering.

He took his finger out of Jon and lubed his own cock. Jon reached back to line Martin up and sank down on him almost before Martin knew what was happening.

“Woah, Jon,” Martin gasped. He grasped the root of his own cock, squeezing to stop himself coming instantly.

“Need you _now_ ,” Jon said, and Martin could feel that need in every muscle of his body, and then Jon kissed him savagely and Martin stopped thinking. Gripping Jon’s hips he slammed upwards, and Jon thrust back against him and then they were fucking, Martin losing himself in the feeling of it, of not having to guard his thoughts. Jon too was lost in the sensation of it all, not fighting himself not to Know what Martin was thinking. This was what it was like without a barrier between them; both there in the moment, touching and tasting, letting themselves feel everything. This is how it could be.

But it was too powerful to last. Moments later Jon leant back, taking his cock in hand and shot all over Martin’s chest with a shout. Martin drove up into him in a frenzy as Jon’s body tightened around his cock and then emptied himself into Jon so hard he thought he might black out.

With a sigh that was almost a sob he fell back onto the cool, sweet smelling sheets with Jon on top of him.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” he said, to no one in particular. He felt rather than heard Jon’s soft laugh against his chest.

“Martin,” Jon said a moment later, and Martin opened his eyes and looked at him. 

Jon looked back, and it was almost too much to see what was there, with nothing to shield them from each other. What really was in Jon’s heart. To really see everything they had, and what they could lose. What they were bound to lose. Martin’s breath stuttered with shock.

“Jon,” he said, grabbing at him. He felt like he was drowning.

“No,” Jon said, shaking his head. “Martin. Don’t think about it. You can’t. Don’t let yourself.” He looked straight into Martin’s eyes. “Just hold on. Breathe.”

“Yeah. Just. G-give me a minute.” Everything was spiralling out and out, the enormity of it all. The stakes of their journey and how they loved each other. Too much.

He held onto Jon and Jon held him back until the dizzying terror ebbed away and there was just the rise and fall of Jon’s chest, and his finger’s in Martin’s hair. Then Jon left his side for a moment, returning almost instantly with a warm washcloth to clean them both up. Martin closed his eyes and concentrated on his own breath, calming himself.

“You probably just need a sandwich,” Jon said after a moment. “I quite often have an existential crisis when I’ve skipped lunch too.”

“Very funny,” said Martin.

“Look,” Jon said. He nodded at something behind Martin.

Martin sat up on an elbow and looked across the room at a table laid for two with gleaming glass and polished silver, and those fancy metal plate covers you only ever got with room service. 

“You’re kidding,” he said, beginning to laugh. He got up and lifted one of the plate covers. A club sandwich and chips. He removed the other one - the same.

There was a third, smaller one. Martin snatched the lid off. “Apologies for the lack of cornettos,” a note read. “Please accept these complimentary National Trust memberships in their place.”

“How useful,” Jon said. “We can walk through the apocalypse one tea room at a time.”

“Sconeageddon,” Martin said, but it wasn’t his best work.

“Eat your crisis sandwich, Martin,” Jon said, coming over and kissing him on the forehead. “Whichever horrifying fairy story we’re currently a part of, this is the good bit.”

And as he pulled Jon into his lap, Martin couldn’t help but agree.


End file.
